


Prologue: Jumonji

by DerpyMcButtface



Series: Continue: Yes/No [2]
Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerpyMcButtface/pseuds/DerpyMcButtface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jumonji’s life, over a period of years, after he’s graduated from college. He’s not happy with anything in his life and he doesn’t know how it ended up this way. </p><p>WARNING: Even if you liked Mamori’s Prologue, might not like Jumonji’s Prologue because of different style and different subject matter. Also there's nothing happy. </p><p>The style of Mamori’s Prologue was intended to be “brief flashes in the void,” but Jumonji’s is more of a slow, consist winding towards the final scene. And it’s twice as long. I’m sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue: Jumonji

Prologue 2: Jumonji

“Guys!” Teruhiko the Part-Time Guy comes running in, his acne-laden face flushed and short of breath.

“Huh? Togano stands up and grabs for the fire extinguisher. “Did the welder-“

“No- there’s a parade! O-Outside!” Teruhiko shouts, fidgeting anxiously.

Kuroki scoffs. “Psh. For kids.”

“I-It’s got girls. Like, they’re p-promoting a new i-idol group or something-“

Kuroki is the first one out the door.

The workers pile out of the Takekura Construction office and onto the sidewalk. Sure enough, they’re on the far left side of a pop-up stage (not a parade as Teruhiko had described it), where some girls are prancing out a rather stiff routine. Some people hand out flyers with the group’s information on it. Jumonji takes one out of politeness as the over-synthesized music blares out from portable speakers. From the photos, it seems the producers have gone after looks than actual skill or charm. Nevertheless, in an all-male workplace, it’s nothing to sniff at.

“T-They’re cute,” Teruhiko mumbles.

Togano snorts. “He’s a victim.”

“He’s a victim,” Shigeru agrees.

“It worked, they got a victim. Gonna send them your allowance every month?” Hakubun adds, and laughs as Teruhiko flushes, embarrassed.

“Hey, hey! Bro selfie! Bro selfie!” Kuroki shouts, crouching down and whipping his phone up into the air. Togano, Shigeru, and Hakubun immediately crowd in around him, dropping into familiar, practiced poses.

There’s a second as Togano blinks. “Um. Here, you too, Kazuki.”

They all peer at the phone screen when Kuroki lowers his hand.

“Perfect!” Shigeru declares, and Kuroki uploads it onto his Twitter.

“Hashtag: Teruhiko’s New Girlfriends,” Hakubun snorts.

“What a player!”

Jumonji’s blinking in the photo, but no one else seems to notice.

* * *

 

Tonight Jumonji gets home a bit early: six fifteen through the rush hour traffic. Work on the new Wc-Donald’s building had been delayed due to slow-drying cement, so having nothing to do, he cleaned up the site, gave the workers an early leave, and headed home himself.

The apartment is dark when he returns, although his wife should have gotten home from her office job an hour ago. He fumbles in the dark for a light switch.

Honoka’s work phone buzzes on the table. Jumonji ignores it until the high-pitched sound is too much. He presses buttons without looking, trying to silence the ringtone, until the answering machine comes on speakerphone.

“Hello, this is Honoka Jumonji. I’m sorry I’m not here right now, but please leave a message after the tone. Thank you.”

It’s a familiar message, one that Jumonji is much too used to hearing. He turns away, but quickly picks up the phone again upon hearing the unknown caller’s message.

“Hey, it was great seeing you yesterday. Same time next week?” a husky male voice asks.

 _Wrong number? Possible. Maybe it’s a wrong number._  Jumonji heaves a sigh, slams the phone down, and throws his knapsack into the living room. It skids across the floor and knocks the table over. He flinches at the loud crash, but no shout of complaint comes from Honoka’s room.

“Honoka?” he calls out, only to be met with silence. He retrieves his bag, and sets the table upright.

It’s dinnertime. The fridge is nearly empty, except for a carton of soymilk and a bunch of bruised bananas. Resigned, Jumonji closes it, and grabs his wallet. He’s less sick of the microwavable convenience store food than of trying to call Honoka again.

* * *

 

Her name is Aika, Aika Hara.

Technically the first time he saw her must have been from the stands, during the Hashiritani Deers and the Kyoshin Poseidons match. But it’s only today he recalls that she must have been there as their manager, but on that day he hadn’t actually noticed her any.

Actually, today he doesn’t really notice her either at first, only wonders why there’s a random woman walking in the office.

As Jumonji waits for one of their suppliers to get back on the line, he watches her idly as she approaches Tamahachi, and passively eavesdrops on their conversation.

"Good afternoon, Tamahachi." Her voice is surprisingly husky, as if she were recovering from a cold.

"Hello, Aika. Are you looking for Gen?"

"Yes, he said that he’d be back by six today?"

Tamahachi chuckles. “You know he’ll never be back from a job early. I’ve not seen him get back earlier than seven lately.”

Aika just smiles. “Oh, that’s all right.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you. Can I sit here while I wait?”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” Tamahachi gives her a gracious smile, and turns back to Jumonji. “Jumonji, did you get the steel rod specs in?”

“On hold with them,” he grunts.

“Oh, okay. Well, let me know when you do, I need to register it into inventory.” Tamahachi turns to go, but Jumonji makes a discreet motion towards the woman. “Customer?”

Tamahachi gives him a confused look. “Aika?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh no, she’s Musashi’s girlfriend.”

Jumonji snorts. “He has a girlfriend?”

“Um, yeah, you didn’t know?”

He shrugs. “Guess it’s about time. What, he’s thirty now?”

“He’s twenty-eight, actually- I mean, seems late to me too, but I married Chisato when I was twenty, and that’s early according to you guys.” Tamachi nods sagely. “Say, you married…”

“I was twenty-five.”

“That’s a good age to get married.”

Jumonji shakes his head. “You don’t stay twenty-five forever, though,” he explains, and tilts his head back into the phone.

* * *

 

It’s not long before Aika becomes a regular presence in the Takekura Construction office.

Everyday, she comes in at four, asks after Musashi, and laughs when the workers tell her without fail that he’ll be working late again.

Then, she asks if it would be okay for her to wait for him in the office, sits down, and takes out her crocheting. So far, Jumonji has seen her finish a large shawl, a hat, and a pair of fingerless gloves.

Feeling a bit bad for her having to wait there for hours, Jumonji approaches her one day. “Hey. Sorry Takekura’s always late. Maybe you should come nearer to seven,” he suggests.

Aika smiles. “Oh, I know that- but I don’t want to go into rush hour traffic, so I would be waiting around anyways,” she explains. “Besides, I’m only going to be crocheting- and I’d rather be doing that here than at home.”

She’s a gentle, unobtrusive presence, wrapped up in her crocheting except for an occasional pause to text on her phone. Jumonji doesn’t feel like he needs to entertain or mind her. In a way, it’s nice to have her there.

* * *

 

“Five-thirty, we been here too long!” Shigeru shouts, slamming his toolbox closed with a slam. “Beer time! Who’s up?”

Kuroki, Togano, Hakubun jump to their feet. “About time!”

“Anyone else?” Shigeru calls out.

“Doctor’s appointment after this,” Jumonji lies.

“Seriously? For what?” Togano asks, concerned.

“Nothing- just check-up stuff. I keep putting it off but they finally caught up to me..”

Kuroki laughs. “Bastard, don’t enjoy your prostate exam too much,” he jokes, and even Jumonji snorts in amusement.

“I’ll recommend you next, asshole.”

“Asshole? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I said asshole!”

“No,  _you!_  Well, seeya Monday. Hey, we gon’ to run into office workers again!” Kuroki complains as they pack up to leave.

“They’d better be careful apparently our stupid’s contagious,” Shigeru snorts.

“What? It’s  _us_  who should be careful, Salaryman Syndrome is contagious too!”

“Tch. They don’t get that men with salary don’t have to be salarymen,” Hakubun agrees. “We’re cowboys.”

“ _You’re_  not!” the other three shout, disappearing from his hearing as the glass office doors close behind them.

Jumonji feels an emptiness as the office falls silent, but it’s less painful a feeling than being there with them and seeing firsthand the distance of their years apart. He looks around for busywork- things that don’t actually need to be done, things that even if done have a minimal impact on anything at all, but nevertheless, things he can do. Tonight, he settles for going back to check if all the job lists are filed away correctly.

He keeps at it for a while before closing the folders, shutting off his computer, and grabbing his bag.

“Good night, Ms. Hara,” he says, nodding in her general direction.

“Oh, you’re leaving?” Aika’s taking inventory, counting wire bundle orders on a spreadsheet.

“Well, nothing I can do until tomorrow. I might as well go home now,” he sighs.

She frowns. “I thought you said that you had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Um.” Jumonji is silent. Caught in his excuse, he tries to think of a way to save himself, but ends up just sighing.

“It’s fine. You’re probably tired,” she says.

“No, it’s not that, it’s…” Jumonji shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“Well, good night, then.”

“You too.” Jumonji looks back at her as he exits, and she waves good-bye to him into the night.

* * *

 

“Good morning assface,” Kuroki grunts.

“Good morning, fishlips,” Jumonji replies. “Got your schedule for the week?”

Kuroki laughs. “Yeah, got it. Site Five? Go to hell!”

“No,  _you_  go- in fact, go this afternoon. Site Five, have fun-“ Jumonji was interrupted by the office phone ringing. He waves a joking middle finger at Kuroki before picking up.

“Takekura Construction. Jumonji Kazuki speaking.”

A familiar drawl echoes from the phone, tinny through cables and metal. “Hello, this is Kid.”

“Oh, hey. You need something?” Jumonji absentmindedly twirls a pen in his hand.

“Mmhmm, yes. I just need to check the status of an order.”

“All right. What’s the order number?”

“Well, that’s the problem, or else I’d have used the website… You see, I sort of lost the order number, but I had it coming anyways…”

It isn’t the first time he’s gotten this kind of call. Jumonji expertly pulls out a sheaf of folders from a shelf without needing to look at the label. “All right. What was the order, and what was it for?”

“A car.”

“Okay, Kid, you’re going to have to be a lot more specific. Like, what kind of car?” he asks, leafing through the folders. “Date ordered, model number, anything I can identify it by?”

Kid tells him.

Jumonji snorts in surprise. “Why do you need a stunt car that can drive on its side?”

“I don’t know… But whatever Tarantino asks for, Tarantino gets…”

“ _What?_  Quentin Tarantino? The one?” Jumonji drops the sheaf of folders.

“Oh dear… Did I jinx it? Oh well, things were going too well anyways…” Kid sighs, his breath blending in with the static on the other side.

“Quentin  _fucking_  Tarantino?” Jumonji exclaims.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream it from the rooftops, really,” the cowboy tells him tiredly.

The blonde gives a grunt of amusement.

“It’s just a small little job. Oh, I can’t tell you the specifics. It’s confidential, sorry. I can’t tell anyone until next press release,” Kid explains.

“If Quentin Tarantino is ordering a stunt that requires a car that can drive at a ninety degree angle, I don’t think it’s little,” Jumonji argues.

“You make it seem so important. But it’s nothing to get excited over, even if I could tell you,” the older man chuckles. “So… Status, please?”

Jumonji scans over the paper, down to the last update. “Hmm, oh, it says we’re waiting on Tetsuma to come in to fit the safety harness.”

“Really? All right, when can he come in?”

“Earliest is Wednesday at two in the afternoon. Does that work? For future reference, the order number is 830-2.”

“Yes, that’s good. All right, thank you.”

“No problem. Thanks for your business, but really, what are you doing over there?” Jumonji asks.

“Well, I’m making some tea right now…” Kid seems amused.

Jumonji shakes his head. “Well, if you can get autographs for us that’d be cool.”

“Will keep in mind. Well, thanks.” Kid hangs up with a click.

He whistles. Quentin fucking Tarantino. Who’d have guessed? Togano would go crazy if he heard they were working on something for the filmmaker.

“Hey, Shozo, you know order 830-2?”

Togano looks up and grins. “Yeah, can you imagine? Tetsuma on the big screen?” he shouts. “So jealous!”

Jumonji winces in surprise. “Oh, you know about the Quentin Tarantino car?”

“’Course, Shigeru told me first,” he brags.

“Yeah… Cool, eh?” Jumonji mumbles.

“It’s so awesome,” Togano sighs almost dreamily. “Anyways. Seeya, if I don’t get to the site, foreman’s gonna kill me. Man, that car!” he chuckles as he leaves.

Jumonji snaps at everyone for the rest of the day. Even after his late-afternoon biscuit break, he can’t shake the dark, grimy feeling from his mind. He crushes his soda can and deliberately throws it into the trash instead of the recycling.

He reaches for his sweater, only to find it gone. A surge of fury bursts in him, and Jumonji kicks his desk hard in frustration, ignoring the startled glances from the workers around him. _I’m going to rip that sweater in two,_  he curses.  _And burn it-_  “Who’s seen my pullover?” he barks. 

“Uh, you were just wearing it earlier-“

“ _I know!_ ”

“Jumonji?” Aika’s voice is a bit startled. “Uh… Were you looking for this”

He turns around to see her holding up the missing sweater. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Thanks.” The rage drains out of him, leaving him feeling embarrassed and a bit guilty. “Uh. Sorry, I just was looking for it.”

Aika proffers the missing garment, looking sheepish. “Sorry, I-“

Jumonji shakes his head quickly. “No, if you’re cold, you can borrow it, it’s fine-“

“-No, it’s just that I saw you ripped it yesterday, so while you were gone- I’m sorry, I should have told you first-“

He glances down at the ripped sleeve. The tear in the fleece has vanished, replaced by the tiniest pucker and neat, small stitches. “Wow. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to, it looks like new…”

“Sorry, I should have asked first, but I’m just really OCD about this kind of stuff…” Aika laughs. “Gee. Makes me sound a bit crazy, doesn’t it, Mr. Jumonji?”

“No, really, thanks.” Jumonji avoids her eyes and nods as he puts the sweater on. It’s still warm from her touch. “T-Thanks.” He starts to walk back to his seat, but halfway through the first step, he pauses. “You can call me Kazuki,” he tells her, finally, and walks away without waiting to hear her reply.

“What’s up with that?” Uzuru hisses when Jumonji returns to his desk. “Your jacket and all- like, she just picked it up and sewed it?”

“Leave it,” Jumonji grumbles.

* * *

 

When Togano, Kuroki, and the two other men leave in the evenings, screaming about happy hour, Jumonji feels a slow, sad longing in his stomach. But following them makes him feel like he’s gingerly stepping on a raft in danger of sinking, not sure if the wood will support his weight. He tells himself that it really doesn’t matter that they didn’t invite him too- they all know he’d just refuse on another excuse again.

So Jumonji stays at work later and later each week, doing all the little after-work tasks until Aika goes home. He tells himself that there’s always something to do. Things to doublecheck. Plans to go over.  Files to reorganize. An empty apartment and an absent wife to avoid.

One day, before the end of the workday, Aika folds an old jacket onto his desk. “Kazuki? Here you go.”

“Huh? Oh, was this one ripped?” Jumonji unfolds it to examine it. The jacket’s familiar, but he doesn’t remember where he got it from- probably the last UNIQLO sale.

“Oh, not a rip. The patch fell off, so I sewed it back on,” she explains. “What’s… KB Alleycats?”

Jumonji chuckles. “Oh yeah, it’s a flag football team I used to be on, after college. But I only did it for a year.”

Aika looks at the patch thoughtfully. “I thought you played American football?”

“Mm, yeah, in high school and college, but I didn’t really have time for it after graduating- this was when I used to work at Tru, that wireless company, so…” He lets the silence trail off.

“Oh, that’s a shame. Gen says you were a great lineman.”

“Yeah, Musashi- I mean, Takekura, he’s coaching now, for the company team, isn’t he?”

“The Babels? Yeah!” Aika beams. “I silkscreened their jerseys, so I know each player. It’s all highschoolers now, actually. The ones whose schools don’t have a football team. They’re really funny.”

Jumonji admires her neat, invisible stitches. “You’re just about repaired my entire wardrobe by now.”

“Except for those jeans. You threw them out like I said, right?” she scolds.

“Oh, those? Yeah,” he lies. “Hey, Aika?”

“Hmm?”

“When did you meet Takekura?”

Aika looks bemused at the sudden change of subject. “Well… Just last year, actually. My half-brother Onihei played on the Babels when Gen was still playing, and he introduced us, and, well, we hit off really well, and it was good timing; I was just coming in from a tough time, and- Oh, nothing,” she laughs.

Jumonji takes a step closer. “No, really, what?”

“Really, nothing. I just mean, well, we hit off really well and-“

Shigeru and Kuroki sprint past, waving their cellphones. “Kaori-chan favorited our tweet! Kaori-chan favorited our tweet!” Kuroki screams.

“I come in too late for everything, don’t I?” he mumbles as they race towards the loading dock to inform Hakubun and Togano.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, nothing.”

* * *

 

Musashi and Aika’s son is born less than a year after their wedding, something Kuroki never passes up the chance to snicker at. It’s a few months later, after the birth, that Aika reappears at the office, baby in arms.

“Wow! Great job!” Tamahachi exclaims, expertly cradling the child before handing him back to Aika. With three children of his own, the older man has plenty of experience with infants. “He looks just like you!”

Kuroki and Togano on the other hand, move rather timidly, warily, like monkeys approaching a crashed UFO.

“I read a manga about this,” Togano whispers under his breath. “It’s going to turn out to be a ghost or a spider spirit or something.”

“Don’t make eye contact,” Kuroki warns. “That’s how they sense fear.”

“They can sense fear?” Shigeru asks, face pale. “Oh shit…”

“Don’t be stupid!” Jumonji sighs. True, babies do make him nervous, especially this one, but only because he’s afraid that he would either hold it so tightly he squashed it, or dropped it headfirst onto the pavement.

“No, I think he looks a bit like a goldfish,” Shinzo shoots in. “Oops. Sorry, ma’m. Hey, little fellow, what’s your name? You gonna be the next boss?” he chuckles.

The baby just blows a spit bubble and stares.

“Yoshiyuki,” Aika laughs, leaning down to kiss the top of her son’s head.

“Wow, so old-fashioned!”

“Well, Gen and I like old-fashioned, so it fits, right?”

“Yeah,” Jumonji agrees half-heartedly. There’s something accusatory, almost condemning, in the baby’s expression, and he turns away, embarrassed.

* * *

 

In July, the bamboo tree in the office drips with paper slips. Tanabata is in a few days, and the streets outside are crowded with vendors setting up for the festival to come.

Aika dabs glue onto layers of brightly-colored tissue paper, humming to herself as two-year-old Yoshiyuki rams a crayon across the pages of his coloring book.

“Have you put your wish on yet?” Jumonji asks.

Aika pauses in her work to pick up one of the blank slips thoughtfully, but puts it back down. “What do I have to wish for?” she laughs. “Better to save the wishes for someone who needs them.” She blows gently on the glue, and eases the huge paper lantern open. Its delicate layers bloom widely, and her nimble fingers fluff it into shape. “I’ll hang these outside, for tomorrow.”

Jumonji takes one of the wishing paper slips.

When he returns to his apartment, Honoka is in her room, talking on the phone. The sound of muffled laughter and conversation filters out from under the door. He walks deliberately loudly in front of the door, and the apartment abruptly falls silent.

“Happy Tanabata,” he says to the closed door.

“No, that’s tomorrow, honey.”

* * *

 

Jumonji re-reads the email for the fifth time and sighs as he exits the office to the loading bay. “Hey. Musashi.” He strolls up to the parked truck. Its bed is full of steel parts and scaffolding, and it’s these supplies that the older man is sorting through as sun dips into evening.

Musashi nods in response, puts down his load, and stretches, his back popping audibly. He doesn’t look like a proud father. He doesn’t look like a joyous parent, despite the fact that his infant daughter, according to Aika, ‘adores’ him.

In fact, the more Jumonji notices, the more he realizes that Musashi looks  _old._  It’s the first time in a while that he’s gotten a really good look at Musashi, and he’s startled by how aged his boss looks. True, Musashi had always appeared old, his features racing ahead of his actual age, but now it shows in a different way, in a resigned expression that shows in the slight furrows on his brow, the constant pursing of his lips. It’s a look that Jumonji knows well. He sees it every morning in the bathroom mirror.

“Did you read your evaluation?” Musashi grunts.

Jumonji nods, tips forward his head in a slight bow. “It was nice of you to say all that stuff.”

“And my recommendation?”

He hesitates. “That part I didn’t understand.”

Musashi looks at him patiently, judging his expression. “What part of ‘Vice President’ is confusing to you?” he asks bluntly.

Jumonji waves his hands, flustered. “No, I just mean- me? I mean, me?”

“We’re a construction company. Everyone here’s a construction worker, and that’s what we do. But now we’re dealing with things that aren’t just cement and steel. Papers. Legal stuff. You know. And I think it’s time to put a professional up.” Musashi explains steadily. “And isn’t this what your degree’s in?”

“Yes, but… You seem to already have everything under control,” Jumonji begins, but then hears how brittle and tinny his statement sounds, especially considering who he is speaking to. He remembers how indifferent Musashi had appeared during construction work around campus, his blasé dismissal of the Deimon Devil Bats, and how that well-tended façade had dissolved before Hiruma’s quiet desperation. Of course Musashi would saunter by, nonchalantly shouldering what should have been the work of an entire department.

“Consider it,” Musashi says quietly, tiredly turning around to pick up the remaining rods.

Jumonji shakes his head. “No, I’ll do it,” he replies. “I’ll do it.”

* * *

 

 

“Good morning. Takekura Construction, Jumonji speaking.”

“Kazuki? Hello, this is-“

“Aika?” he asks, dropping his pen in surprise.

Her voice is worried but calm. “Yes, this is Aika- is Gen at work?”

“Um, no, he hasn’t come back yet. When did he say he was coming back from that offshore drilling thing?”

Her voice is unusually fast, her syllables nearly scrambled. “He was supposed to be back yesterday evening, and he hasn’t come back home yet either, and he’s not answering his phone- and, well, what I mean, if you see him, please tell him to call me back right away- oh, I’m just worrying over nothing, aren’t I?” she asks with a shaky laugh. “It’s weird, I just have a weird feeling…”

“I’m pretty sure it’s nothing. If he comes to work first, I’ll call you.”

“Thank you.” She hangs up.

Jumonji spins his chair around. “Hey. Tamahachi. Musashi hasn’t stopped by, has he?”

“No, but if you see him, tell him I need to talk to him about a supplier,” the older man says nonchalantly. “He’s probably tired from his trip.”

He shakes his head. “No, Aika just called. He hasn’t come home yet.”

Tamahachi stops typing and turns around. “What?”

“Musashi hasn’t come home yet, and he’s not here. I mean, I’m just it’s nothing, probably just delay, but I’m just confused because, well, it’s Musashi. He’s only been late one time in his life.”

Tamahachi looks deep in thought. “Let me call him.”

“All right.” Jumonji crosses his arms and watches as Tamahachi dials Musashi’s cellphone. With every passing tone, his frown deepens.

He redials. “That’s strange. Well, I’ll leave a voicemail- oh! Hello!” An expression of relief crosses his face, only to drop into alarm. “Yes, officer? Yes, my name is Yoshio Tamahachi. I’m his employee. Yes, officer. No, officer, he hasn’t come home. His wife called. No, officer, this is very unusual for him.”

Minutes tick by, agonizingly slow, as Tamahachi listens to the voice on the other side of the line, giving only “yes” or “no.” Finally, he hangs up, and sits back, closing his eyes.

“Call a body meeting,” he orders, not opening his eyes. “I think it’s serious.”

* * *

 

“Search Continues for Businessman Lost at Sea,” the headline reads.

“C-Construction worker,” Aika corrects, staring at the words. “Not businessman- he’s a construction worker…”

Jumonji glances at the column. It’s just a recap of the events of the last five days, about how Musashi had gone to supervise the construction of a private warehouse on a tiny island just off the coast. How he told his customer, on his last evening, that he was going to take a boat out for a last final check of the cement. How he had purchased two bottles of vodka at the local mart, which were later discovered, empty, in his hotel room. And how the next day, his boat had been found capsized, pulled by the current down to the next bay over.

As the Vice-President, Jumonji’s statement to the press it printed at the bottom: “We continue to pray for his safe return during these troubled times.” A clean, bland message that doesn’t even hint at the people back home.

The Ha-Ha Brothers are subdued. Even loudmouthed Shigeru’s lips are clamped close. Tamahachi forgets to color his hair, and the roots grow in as white as salt.

Jumonji’s worried, for Musashi. He’s worried, for the company. But it’s Aika’s grief that pierces him the most.

She sits at her desk, filling and stamping out forms as if it were a normal day, all the while her eyes and nose are worn red from her tears. The moment her stack of work is exhausted, she buries her face in her arms.

“Aika!” Jumonji exclaims, and rushes to her side.

Aika keeps her head down. “It must have been the devil,” she weeps. “The devil came and pulled my husband to the bottom of the ocean.”

* * *

 

The death certificate of Gen Takekura is official. Immediately, almost indecently soon, his affairs are put to order, and the continuation of Takekura Construction paved ahead by a living will last updated, fortunately, just the year before. There’s a lot of it that he doesn’t understand, but he and Tamahachi are meeting with the lawyer again tomorrow to discuss it.

Before then, there’s someone he needs to see. He’s been to Musashi’s house before, on a few occasions, and he remembers the way there as if he had been there his whole life.

There’s a woman in a stylish coat outside the door, her finger poised above the doorbell. She seems familiar, and when she turns around, Jumonji recognizes her face. “Anezaki. What are you doing here?”

Mamori looks strained. The creased lines around her glossy lips are deeper than ever. “Jumonji? I’m seeing Aika.”

“Oh. Well, I came here to see her too.”

She stops and gives him almost a grimace. “No, please, I think it’s best I talk to her alone, for now,” Mamori insists.

He stops. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Mamori sighs, apparently debating how much emotional energy she wants to put into explaining to him. “Please, I think it’s better this way-“

“Why? I mean I-“

“No.” Mamori’s face is set.

Jumonji nods and turns around, but continues speaking. “Anezaki, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

Jumonji hesitates, and then tells her his concerns. “They’re calling this a clear case-closed. Accidental death, drunkenness, drowning. But Musashi doesn’t drink.”

She gives a sad smile. “Well, some people are full of surprises, I guess.”

He’s walked a few yards away before Mamori speaks again.

“I-I’m not going to tell Aika you were here.”

* * *

 

Jumonji steps into the Takekura Construction office for the first time as the acting president. With Tamahachi and his veteran team supervising the construction, the only change to his work is that now there’s a great deal more of it.

“Good morning,” Kuroki says, his eyes shifting around as if he’s unsure of where to put his gaze. Beside him, Togano pauses, and then bows stiffly.

Jumonji pretends he didn’t see. “Good morning.”

There’s a silence only partially due to the three of them, the old Ha-Ha Brothers, trying to figure out how to address each other.

“I turned in the job list for last week,” Kuroki finally says.

“All right. Good.” Jumonji shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Well. Um. Let me know if there’s anything else.”

Jumonji clenches his fists. “Kuroki-“

Kuroki turns around and takes his hands out of his pocket. “Yes?”

Jumonji shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Togano and Kuroki are silent for a while, and then Jumonji realizes why: neither of them have ever been very good at talking to strangers.

“Keep it up,” he says dully, and turns away.

* * *

 

Tanabata is tomorrow, but he doesn’t have any desire to go. The bustle and the lantern-lit crowds, the warm balmy night and the moon shining through the thin layer of clouds, feel irrelevant to him. The laughter and lights seem immature, childish, as if he understood them in a way no one else could or was willing to.  _This must be how kids seem to adults,_  he thinks.

Jumonji takes out the wishing paper and begins to write, using the back of his phone as a surface. Ink smears across his thumb as he writes, and keeps writing, until both sides of the slip of paper are covered in words.

When he’s finished, he reads it over again, and with a sigh, throws it into the cement pouring in front of him. The wishing paper lands on the surface, and lingers there for a few moments before being sucked under.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Mamori’s Prologue was done in a shorter, concise style, almost terse but Jumonji’s is very long and winding. This is for a variety of reasons, but the main one is just the content: Jumonji’s Prologue covers a lot more material and subject matter. Mamori had one focal point (recognizing the loss of Hiruma), whereas Jumonji’s has multiple anchors, all of which cover different aspects of his growth and life: Togano and Kuroki, his wife Honoka, and his feelings for Aika.  
> Because of that, I feel that this piece probably appeals to an older audience more, one that has been through what he has.  
> I think that I could have just posted the very final scene alone and it would have been just as complete a story as this whole thing.  
> Can you believe this is the much-shortened version? Send me a private message if you want to slog through the uncut version.


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